


When It All Comes Crashing Down

by KaraTutiiro



Series: These Freaks and These Soldiers [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Feels, Bruce Needs a Hug, Captivity, Gen, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Protective Tony, Science Bros, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1584332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaraTutiiro/pseuds/KaraTutiiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After SHIELD collapses, Bruce Banner's life suddenly becomes a whole lot worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted to my Tumblr. It's technically the first work I've actually published, collaborations aside. I started out calling it a "ficlet," and then it ended up being over 11,000 words, because that's the way things go sometimes.
> 
> The Avengers may not all live together as of yet, but they are still damn protective if you mess with one of their own.

**Stark Tower, two months after the Battle of New York**

"So." Tony held open the door of Bruce’s new apartment with no small hint of showmanship. "What do you think?"

"Wow," Bruce remarked as he stepped inside, taking the place in. It had a chic open floorplan, with a few-inch difference in floor elevation differentiating the living room from the dining room, and a polished oak island demarcating the edge of the kitchen. The decor had east-Asian influences, with a great deal of wooden furniture and numerous live plants. There was even a fountain near the front door, rivulets of water trickling down across a textured stone wall. "You could probably fit my last three places in here…"

"Wouldn’t surprise me," Tony replied absently as he examined his suit in a nearby mirror. As he adjusted his pocket square, he added, "Just wait until you see the master bath."

Bruce walked through the space, getting a feel for it. Aside from the staggeringly large size (compared to what he was used to, anyway), it was very much his style. It felt like a place he could call home. Home… For the first time since his old life had crashed down around him, that word could be a real place for him, and the idea was so warm and beautiful that he thought it might well overwhelm him. Still, there was a nagging undercurrent of apprehension that Bruce could not simply ignore. “Tony… Are you sure this is a good idea?”

"Of course it’s a good idea," Tony replied with that distinctive, unwavering self-assurance of his. "I get one of the few people alive who’s as smart as me on my payroll and you get a sweet new apartment and a lab chock full of all the coolest toys. It’s a win-win."

"Don’t avoid the real issue." Bruce was well acquainted with the many ways in which Tony Stark could avoid a topic or derail a conversation, and had come to the conclusion that a direct approach was generally best. The technique didn’t always work for everyone else, but Tony seemed disinclined to outright ignore something if Bruce considered it important.

"We’ve already talked about this," Tony said as he settled himself into a nearby armchair like he owned the place (which, Bruce supposed, he technically did). "Realistically, the Other Guy only ever comes out to play when you’re in some kind of danger, so keeping you in a safe environment is probably the best way of keeping him under wraps. I think a brand new building with top of the line security—some of which, I might add, is custom-tailored to addressing your specific situation—fits that bill pretty well. Like I said, win-win."

"Yeah, I know," Bruce said wearily, taking a seat himself. "It’s just… being in such a densely populated area makes me uneasy. If things go wrong…"

"So we’ll make sure they don’t," Tony interrupted decisively. He sounded so confident that Bruce could just begin to buy that maybe it really was that simple. "Oh, on that note, I _may_ have told security to send someone with you if you decide to go out after dark. It wouldn’t end well for anyone if you got mugged.”

"Oh God," Bruce muttered exasperatedly, but he was smiling nonetheless. "How did I let you talk me into this?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Stark Tower (AKA Avengers Tower), 5 months after the failed Project Insight launch**

At 8:56 in the morning, Maria Hill received word that the Army had half a dozen tanks moving through New York City. She watched them making their way up through Brooklyn towards Manhattan as she and her analysts scrambled to identify where they were going and why. They still didn’t have any concrete answers by the time the convoy passed Houston Street, but she grabbed her gun and headed for the research floors anyway. You don’t become Deputy Director of SHIELD without good instincts, and hers were giving her a pretty good idea what was about to happen. She just _really_ hoped she was wrong.

* * *

Bruce had spent all morning in his lab, working on radiation transport simulations. He was blissfully unaware of the commotion a few dozen floors below right up until the moment Ms. Hill appeared in his doorway. He could tell from the sharp look in her eyes that something big was happening.

"I don’t mean to alarm you, doctor, but we may have a situation. I need you to come with me."

"Well that’s ominous," He observed, though he took his coat and followed her nonetheless as she led him towards the elevators. "What kind of a situation?"

"It could be nothing, it’s my job to be paranoid." She deflected. When they stepped into an elevator car, she swiped her card key and hit the button for one of the topmost floors—it contained, among other things, the quinjet hangar. "Just to be safe, I’d like to remove you from the building."

"Just tell me what’s happening, Maria. I won’t lose it, I promise."

She hesitated, then chose her words carefully as she explained, “There’s some Army activity in the area. We don’t know what their target is, so…”

Bruce’s blood ran cold, but he took a deep breath and then replied, “So you’re getting me out of here. Prudent.”

The rest of the elevator ride passed in tense silence, as did the walk to the hangar. Hill’s expression was gradually becoming more and more grave in response to whatever she was hearing in her earpiece. She was doing a preflight check of the jet when something she heard made her freeze. “You have to be kidding me. How far out?” She asked, then cursed at the response. To Bruce she said, “The jet isn’t going to work, we need to take another route.”

"What now?" Bruce asked, attempting with moderate success to keep his voice calm and level.

"They’ve got gunships in the air, and they’re too close to evade. Come on." She headed back for the doors that led to the atrium and elevators.

Before the two of them could make it even half way there, the doors were thrown open from the other side. A small army of special ops soldiers streamed through, fanning out around Bruce and Hill with their guns at the ready. Instinctively, she stepped in front of him, assuming a defensive posture and drawing her weapon, but it was a futile gesture; they were hopelessly outgunned.

"No," Bruce breathed. "No no no no no, this can’t be happening." He had been living and working in this building for more than two years; the days of soldiers hounding him wherever he went were supposed to be over. Having that illusion shattered so suddenly and so violently left him feeling like a rat in a cage, tiny and cornered and powerless.

"That’s funny, I’m pretty sure it is," Ross said, and it took Bruce a few seconds to find his face behind the row of soldiers that separated them. "Put your gun down, Agent Hill, you’re surrounded."

"General, please, this is insane," Bruce pleaded, not even trying to conceal the naked panic in his voice. "We’re in the middle of _Manhattan!_ If we do this fight here—”

"There doesn’t have to be a fight," Ross interrupted. "If you surrender peacefully, no one gets hurt. If you don’t, all that collateral damage will be on your head."

Suddenly Bruce understood why the soldiers hadn’t led their assault with the usual teargas. “That’s your plan… Set the stakes so high that I _have_ to surrender.” The sheer cynicism of it left him reeling. “You’re really willing to gamble with that many innocent lives just to complete this… vendetta you have against me?”

"A lot of people seem to think you’re some kind of hero." The disdain dripping from Ross’ voice communicated quite clearly that he was not among them. "I thought I’d give you a chance to act like one."

Bruce clenched his hands into fists. He was angry, yes, and afraid, but those paled in comparison to the pall of hopelessness and despair that was settling over his soul. The general was a bastard, but he was right; if Bruce let the Other Guy out, all of the bloodshed that would inevitably follow would be on his hands. He didn’t think he could live with that. “Fine, you son of a bitch,” He muttered. “I surrender. I hope it was worth selling your soul.”

Hill looked back at him, surprise, concern, and regret all playing across her features. Bruce thought for a moment that she was going to ask him if he was sure, but she didn’t. She knew as well as he did that there was no real alternative. She lowered her gun, but as a pair of men stepped forward to secure a massive set of shackles around Bruce’s wrists, she shot Ross the iciest glare she could manage. “This is wrong, General. You know that.”

"It’s necessary," he replied, then gestured to his men to lead Bruce away. They all filed out almost as quickly as they arrived, leaving Hill standing in the middle of the hangar, alone.

* * *

**Tony Stark’s mansion (version 2.0)**

Tony awoke to the sound of Jarvis’ voice. “Sir, you have a call from Ms. Hill.”

He groaned at having his sleep interrupted, grumbling, “What time is it?”

"Quarter to seven, sir."

"Remind her how time zones work and tell her to call back later."

"She is insisting to speak with you now. The situation is quite urgent," Jarvis replied.

Pepper mumbled something indecipherable and yanked Tony’s pillow out from under his head, settling it on top of hers to block out the noise. Irritably, he grabbed his headset from the nightstand. “Fine, put her through.” When the call connected, he answered, “Hill, you’d better have a good reason for waking me up.”

She did not bother with pleasantries. “The Army just took Banner.”

"What?" Tony sat up, suddenly fully awake.

"General Ross showed up with six tanks and a couple of gunships. He managed to box us in completely."

"Son of a bitch. How bad was the fight?" He asked as he pulled on a pair of pants.

"There wasn’t one. Ross got Banner to surrender."

"Seriously?" Tony asked, in spite of himself. He slipped on a pair of loafers and then grabbed a shirt on his way out into the hallway.

"He had to effectively hold Midtown at gunpoint," Hill explained, an edge of bitterness cutting through her professional tone, "But yes. They’re currently on a helicopter headed back to Fort Hamilton, though we doubt they’ll be staying there long."

Tony buttoned his shirt as he descended the stairs to his workshop. “Figure out where they’re actually going and try to contact the rest of the team. We may need them.”

"What are you going to do?" Hill asked.

"I’m gonna make some calls," Tony replied flippantly, before taking off the headset and stepping into his waiting armor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Edwards Air Force Base**

Colonel Rhodes was in a classified meeting, but that wasn’t about to stop Tony. More importantly, neither was anyone else, since he was A, wearing his suit, and B, _royally_ pissed off. The room where the meeting was being held had a security door with card reader, but Tony just ripped the whole lock mechanism out of the door frame and let himself in.

"Tell me you didn’t know about this," he said, deadly serious, as he stormed straight up to where his best friend was rising from his seat.

"What are you talking about, Tony? What the hell are you even _doing_ here?” Rhodey asked.

"The Army just _kidnapped_ Bruce Banner!” Tony shouted. “Tell me you _didn’t know!_ ”

Rhodey exchanged uneasy glances with the other officers in the room before replying, “I don’t know anything about that, but if you’ll just take a breath, I’ll help you figure it out, okay?” He nodded to the other briefing participants. “If you’ll excuse me…”

"Nothing about this mess is even remotely okay, Rhodey," Tony insisted, though he did at least lower his voice. He flipped up his faceplate while he walked with Rhodey towards the latter’s office. "Those sons of bitches sent, what, twenty, thirty special ops types into _my_ building to _kidnap_ one of my friends and haul him off to God knows where. I am _not_ gonna take this lying down.”

"Just slow down and walk me through it. What exactly happened?"

As they walked, Tony went over everything he knew. Unfortunately, it wasn’t all that much. He’d had Jarvis pull the security footage of the assault and watched it on flight over, but Hill’s team still hadn’t come up with any useful intel on where Ross was going or how high up this thing went.

"Damn Army grunts are so far out of their league…" Rhodey muttered once Tony had finished. "Okay. Trying to interfere with another branch’s op is always messy, but I’ll do everything I can to get Ross shut down. Are you planning on doing anything stupid in the meantime?"

Tony shrugged. “Depends on how you define ‘stupid.’ I’m not gonna stop looking for Bruce, if that’s what you mean.”

Rhodes let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, and I know better than to try to stop you. Just remember, you get into it with the US Army, I won’t be able to protect you. I don’t have that kind of sway.”

"I’ll take my chances. The President does kind of owe me, remember?" He flashed Rhodey a petulant grin, though the speed with which it faded betrayed how dark his mood actually was. "Listen, I’ve gotta get to New York. Call me when you know something, okay?"

"Will do," Rhodey replied, settling himself behind his desk.

* * *

**Stark Tower**

By the time Tony arrived at the Tower it was late afternoon, and Steve was already there. He was waiting in the lounge area of the Avengers command complex, along with Hill and a man Tony had never met.

"Captain," Tony said, by way of greeting. He wasn’t really in the mood for pleasantries. "Who’s the new guy?"

"Sam Wilson," the man said, standing to shake Tony’s hand. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, sorry it had to be under these circumstances."

"Good to have you here," Tony replied somewhat absently. To Hill, he said, "So, were you able to track down anyone else?"

"Romanoff’s on her way, but Barton and Thor are both completely off the grid right now."

"Not surprising. Especially, you know, from the alien. So I’m guessing you two are up to speed?" He asked, turning his attention back to Sam and Steve.

"Having a little trouble believing it, but yeah. Miss Hill filled us in," Steve confirmed.

"What’s so hard to believe? They’ve been trying to take him in for years," Tony remarked bitterly. "He is literally Ross’ white whale."

"There’s a difference between reading about it and watching the footage of it actually happening," Steve replied, shifting uneasily.

"I should’ve seen it coming," Hill said, cutting Tony off before he could make a jab about Uncle Sam not living up to expectations. "SHIELD was what was keeping the Army off Banner’s back, I should have known to keep a closer eye on Ross after the agency fell."

"Yes, you should have," Tony agreed. He didn’t really blame her, per se—he didn’t envy her trying to take over SHIELD’s intelligence work with a civilian team, no matter how well-funded—but he wasn’t feeling particularly charitable to anyone at that moment.

Steve shot him a quick glare before saying, “Laying blame isn’t going to help anything now. We need to focus on getting the doctor back.”

"Where are we on that?" Tony asked.

Hill folded her arms. “Not much progress so far, but it’s our top priority. I have people trolling security cameras and social media, there’s a team of hackers trying to break into the DOD’s secure servers, and we’re sifting through every bit of chatter we’ve been able to intercept. It’s only a matter of time before we find something.”

"Sooner rather than later would be nice," Tony said. "I asked Rhodey to look into it through official channels, so maybe he’ll come up with something."

"We’ll keep working the unofficial ones." Hill stood as she declared, "I should get back down there."

"Bring us something we can use," Tony instructed grimly. To the other two men, he said, "I need to go make some phone calls, but make yourselves at home."

* * *

Natasha arrived late in the evening and went straight to work in Hill’s intelligence center. Tony had spent hours making phone calls to both the White House and his various contacts in the DOD before abandoning that approach in favor of trying to identify and track the equipment Ross’ research facility would need. Sam passed the time by familiarizing himself with the quinjet and its controls. Steve, meanwhile, had little he could do other than watch and rewatch the security footage of that conversation between Bruce and General Ross in the hangar. No matter how many times he watched it, some lines still hit him like a punch to the gut: _"… all that collateral damage will be on your head." "You’re really willing to gamble with that many innocent lives …"_

_"It’s necessary."_

Steve didn’t hear Sam approaching until he knocked on the doorframe. “Hey, man, you okay? You kinda look like you’re about to hurl.”

"What? No, I’m okay," Steve replied, turning around in his seat to face Sam. "I just hate all this sitting around, waiting for new intel to come in. I feel completely useless."

Sam nodded sympathetically. “Makes sense. We’re men of action, we wanna be able to go get things done. We don’t really know what to do with the quiet spaces where we’re waiting on someone else.” When Steve didn’t respond, he added, “Is that the only thing bothering you?”

"This is pretty hard to swallow," Steve replied, gesturing to the video. "I mean, kidnapping people to experiment on them? That’s Hydra’s game. If the good guys are doing that kind of thing, too…"

"Don’t do that to yourself, man," Sam insisted. "This General Ross, he’s just one guy. He might have a lot more power than someone like that should, but that doesn’t mean the whole system’s broken."

Steve sighed. “I’m just not so sure about anything, anymore.”

Sam examined Steve for a few moments, trying to read him, perhaps. Finally, he said, “Well look, I’m gonna try to get some sleep; you should do the same. There’s nothing more either of us can do tonight.”

"Yeah, you’re probably right," Steve agreed. He took another look at the scene on his monitor—two dozen men with their rifles trained on an unarmed scientist and a woman with a handgun—before closing the video window and walking away.

* * *

At some point in the night, Tony had fallen asleep at his computer. He knew because he was now being shaken awake by a hand on his shoulder.

"Tony, wake up." Steve’s voice was coming from somewhere above and behind him. "The ladies found something."

Tony jerked and sat upright. “Right, yes, I’m awake.” He heaved himself out of his chair, wincing at the crick in his neck, and followed Steve to the briefing room.

"Nice of you to join us," Natasha said dryly, as though it wasn’t just her and Sam waiting. As Tony and Steve took their seats, she announced, "Agen— _Ms._ Hill and I haven’t found a location on Banner yet, but we do have a codename for the program: Lyssa. We’ve confirmed that it is a research operation, not just containment; it was authorized through the Army’s Bio-Force Department.”

"Can we trace the funding?" Tony asked.

"We’re working on it," Natasha replied. "It’s all classified, so it’s a slow process."

"You said you asked Colonel Rhodes to look into this, maybe he can access that information faster," Steve suggested.

"I’ll call him and ask," Tony agreed. To Natasha, he said, "Anything else?"

"Details are on the server, but no, nothing major."

Tony sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face wearily. “Well, at least it’s something. Tell Hill to keep it up.”

Natasha nodded and took her leave, while Tony went to go retrieve his headset. He needed coffee, but first he needed to call Rhodey. It was still early in Los Angeles, but that was the last thing Tony cared about at that particular moment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Location unknown**

Bruce had completely lost all sense of time. As soon as they loaded him into one of the helicopters, Ross’ men had put a hood over his head. It had been a short helicopter ride followed by a much longer plane flight to get him to his current location, wherever that was. The hood and shackles were only removed after he had been taken to the cell in which he currently sat, entertaining equal parts of mind-numbing boredom and barely-contained terror.

The cell was, predictably, windowless—Bruce would be incredibly surprised if it wasn’t underground. The walls were metal and, if the bank vault-style door was any indication, several inches thick. It was fairly large—for a holding cell, anyway—perhaps ten by fourteen feet, although the only furnishings were a sink, a toilet, and a mattress on the floor. There were also, charmingly, sturdy metal anchor points spaced at regular intervals along the walls, presumably for if they ever felt the need to chain him down. Multiple security cameras were set into recesses in the walls, protected by thick panes of bulletproof plastic.

He had no way of knowing how long it had been when the sound of the ventilation system changed. Within seconds, Bruce’s mind began to feel sluggish, like there was a thick layer of cotton muffling all of his thoughts. A few moments later, he lost consciousness completely.

When he awoke, he was lying on some sort of surgical table. When he groggily tried to move, he found that he was strapped down, arms outstretched. His torso was bare, with nothing but a sheet covering his lower body.

Bruce pushed aside both the grogginess and his rising panic and focused on examining his surroundings. He was being held in place by conventional medical restraints, but there were also about a dozen thick bands arching over the table, sized for the Other Guy. He noted with some detachment that they did’t seem to be made of metal—carbon nanomaterial, maybe?

The room was full of medical imaging equipment. When he craned his neck to look at what was behind him, he thought he saw some kind of modified MRI. There was also xray and ultrasound equipment, all set up on robotic apparati that could be operated remotely.

There were two of the same vault-type doors as his cell, one on each of the walls to either side. Last but not least, there was an observation window set into the wall at his feet, made of three or four inch thick bulletproof plastic. The room on the other side was hard to see, as it was dimly lit relative to the surgical room, but Bruce could make out a pair of technicians sitting at some sort of control panel and, standing behind them, General Ross.

"So, Bruce," Ross began, his voice being transmitted over some sort of intercom. "Are you going to continue to cooperate with us?"

"Right, because you’ve given me so many reasons to thus far," Bruce quipped in reply.

Ross sighed and picked up a clipboard, scanning over it as he spoke. “I shouldn’t be surprised… you’ve always made life worse for the people around you, even before your accident.  Hell, your mother would probably still be alive if it wasn’t for you.”

Bruce felt an involuntary flare of anger at the low blow, but he also recognized it for the crude provocation tactic that it was. He took a deep breath to calm himself before replying, “That’s classy, general, but you’ll have to do a lot better if you want to get a reaction.”

"But it’s true, isn’t it? Your mother died because of you, because she made the mistake of trying to save you."

Bruce knew that he couldn’t keep listening to this, not without losing control, so he turned his attention inwards, first to his breathing, then to counting his heartbeats.

Ross kept trying, continuing, “Your father was right, you know. He always knew you were a monster, and now look at you. You’re the one he should have killed.”

The general continued on like that for awhile, poking at every one of Bruce’s psychological wounds, trying to set him over the edge. His plan evidently didn’t account for Bruce simply tuning out the sound of his voice entirely. Bruce just kept counting his heartbeats, focusing his tremendous intellect on that one, simple task. He actually found himself relaxing as everything around him faded before the steady rhythm.

It took him a moment to take notice when Ross, instead of berating Bruce further, said to one of the techs, “This isn’t working. Switch to plan B.”

The tech wasn’t wearing a microphone, but Bruce could just make out his objection. “Sir, I thought that was only—”

"Just do it, soldier," Ross snapped. Something about the unease in his voice made all of Bruce’s anxiety flood back with a vengeance.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something moving—a small robot. When it was nearby, an electrical spark flashed across a nozzle on its arm, igniting a stream of flammable gas. Bruce felt the icy fingers of sheer terror close around his heart as the little robot advanced towards his left arm.

"No, don’t! General, please, don’t do this!" he pleaded. Ross just turned away, apparently unwilling to watch what was about to happen.

Bruce screamed when the flame was moved into place over his exposed forearm. He tried to fight back both the pain and the Other Guy, but it was a lost cause. He felt his bones and muscles crack and shift as his consciousness receded to some safe, dark nothingness.

* * *

When Bruce awoke back in his cell, it was to intense, searing pain. There was a clean bandage on his arm, but he had clearly not been given any painkillers. He thought that the burn must be second degree—if it was third, the pain would only be around the edges, not all the way through as it was. Then again, given how the sensation was radiating out well beyond the actual boundaries of the wound, maybe he shouldn’t be so sure.

Trying to find something else to think about, he noted that he was wearing a hospital gown and loose sleep pants. Under other circumstances, he might have been disturbed by the idea of some stranger dressing him while he was unconscious, but that was hardly the worst violation he had endured since he arrived here.

Bruce curled up on his left side, arm laid out in front of him so that the wound didn’t touch anything. He drew on every coping mechanism he knew, all the way back to his earliest memories of hiding under his bed from his father, and tried to transport his mind to somewhere that wasn’t here.

* * *

The second time the unknown gas was pumped into his cell, Bruce welcomed it, even knowing what would inevitably follow. He embraced the reprieve from consciousness, however brief.

Of course, when he woke again in was on that same God-forsaken table. This time, he found he had an IV in his arm and EKG leads hooked up to his chest. He had thought he’d exhausted his capacity for horror, but that hypothesis was shattered when his mind cleared enough to recognize the machine looming over him: a robotically-assisted surgery device.

When he looked down and recognized the little robot with the blowtorch—positioned near his leg, this time—he considered voluntarily letting the Other Guy take over. It was inevitable that he’d transform eventually, and the sooner he did, the less of this he’d remember…

He forced the notion from his mind as best he could. What Ross was trying to do—the power he was trying to recreate—was far, far too dangerous. Bruce probably wouldn’t be able to stop him, in the end, but he had to at least try.

"I’ll give you one chance, Banner," Ross said over the intercom, voice grim. "Transform on your own, or we’ll be forced to make you."

Bruce swallowed, trying to keep his voice from cracking as he replied, “I will _never_ help you, Thaddeus. Not with this.” He found himself hoping vainly that the general couldn’t make out the tears that were streaming down his temples.

When he heard the click of the electric igniter and the whoosh of the flame catching, he closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, and did his best to brace himself against what he knew was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you unfamiliar with Bruce’s childhood backstory from the comics, his father was an abusive alcoholic who ultimately killed Bruce’s mother when she tried to leave with Bruce. There was also this whole deal where he believed *his* abusive father was a literal monster, and then Bruce demonstrating genius from an early age convinced him that Bruce had inherited the "monster gene," it's a whole thing. I’ve included it, despite this being an MCU fic, because I think it explains a lot about Bruce.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the reason I tagged for references to suicide. No one actually commits or genuinely considers suicide, but there are references to stuff that I figured might be triggering to some people, so I decided to err on the side of caution with my tags.

**Stark Tower**

"Natasha, get up here, ASAP," Tony said as soon as she answered his phone call.

"Why, do you have something?" She asked.

"Rhodey came through, we’ve got a location."

"On my way."

"Bring Hill."

* * *

It was past noon on the second day, but they finally, finally had something. It took all of Tony’s willpower not to just fly off on his own right then and there. As soon as the two women stepped into the briefing room, he started talking.

"They’re in North Dakota. Lyssa funded a big construction project there, they were buying truckloads of steel plate, bulletproof glass, vault doors, and then later on a bunch of exotic medical equipment. It’s our place."

"Sounds about right to me," Hill agreed. "I’ll have my people confirm and start digging for detailed intel."

"You can work on that while we’re in the air. Even in the quinjet, it’ll take us awhile to get there," Tony reasoned.

Steve shrugged. “I… can’t really argue with that plan.”

"Damn right. Wheels up in twenty?"

"Works for me," Natasha said impassively.

Sam grinned. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

**Southeast of Dickinson, North Dakota**

The second time Bruce woke up in his cell was even worse than the first. Not only were the burns on his arm and leg screaming with pain, but his whole chest ached in a way that was duller, yet somehow still nearly as awful. When he checked under his hospital gown, he saw that there were four bandages on his abdomen. Lifting the edge of one revealed an approximately three inch long incision, which, curiously, had two sets of sutures: one normal, one oversized and loose. Bruce had to wonder if they’d sewn up the Other Guy only to discover when he reverted that they had to redo it, or if they’d had the foresight to double his sutures intentionally. He wasn’t entirely sure which would be more disturbing.

He lay on his back and tried to filter out the pain, but even his mind could only do so much. That’s the thing about pain: even when it isn’t so bad in the short term, it gets harder and harder to endure over time. The longer he lay there, the more Bruce began to feel like he couldn’t take this, like if it went on much longer he would…

He didn’t know what he would do. What could he? Lay there as his sanity frayed more and more until nothing of himself was left?

Of course, there was always one other option: he could use the Hulk.

Part of him hated himself for even considering it. This was not the Battle of New York; if he let the Other Guy out here, he _would_ kill people. At the same time… weren’t those the very people who had denied him any alternative?

He knew it was wrong, but he also knew he had to do it—not just because it was his only chance to survive, but because it was a psychological inevitability. The next question was how; what could he do to maximize his chances. This room was designed specifically to contain him. Maybe the Other Guy would be able to break out anyway, but Bruce wasn’t willing to gamble on that. No, he needed to get them to open the door. The problem was that they only ever did that after they’d already rendered him unconscious.

Bruce racked his brain for who knows how long until it finally hit him: they couldn’t gas him if he wasn’t breathing. A plan began to coalesce as he looked at the materials around him: he didn’t have much, but he did have fabric and those anchor points that were built into the walls. If he tried to hang himself, they’d have to send someone in immediately to stop him. The moment that door was open, he could let the Other Guy take over.

The trick would be moving fast enough. He had to have the noose around his neck before they could pump drugs into the room to stop him. It would be hard, and he knew he wouldn’t get a second chance, but at least he had a shot.

Bruce felt himself smile. _He had a shot._

* * *

**The Avengers’ quinjet, in flight over Michigan**

"Hill just sent over some new intel," Tony informed the team. Natasha and Sam were up front in the pilot and copilot seats, respectively, while Tony and Steve sat opposite one another in the back.

"What do we have?" Natasha asked over her shoulder.

Tony flipped through the new material on his internal heads-up display. “Satellite imagery, partial blueprints… Ooh, this looks like a personnel roster.”

Steve retrieved a tablet from the cargo compartment behind him and pulled up the data for himself. “Okay… It looks like most of their defenses are targeted inwards; they don’t look to be all that prepared for an external assault. We should be able to get in without causing many casualties.”

"I would be okay with causing some casualties," Tony remarked.

"Stark, don’t even go there. These soldiers are just following orders, we—"

"So?" Tony interrupted. "How many of the men you killed back in the day were just following orders? Wait, lemme guess… pretty much all of them."

"That was different and you know it," Steve insisted. "These are our guys."

"No, _Banner_ is one of our guys,” Tony snapped. “I don’t care what uniform Ross and his men are wearing, they attacked us where we live and _took_ a member of our team. If that isn’t a declaration of war, what the hell is?”

"Guys, guys," Sam intervened, turning back to look both of them in the eyes. "This situation is enough of a mess as it is without you two getting into it. Our first priority should be getting Dr. Banner out safely, so let’s focus on how best to do that."

"The more bodies we leave behind, the harder it’ll be to keep them off our backs in the long run," Natasha pointed out. "That isn’t in Banner’s best interests. Or anyone else’s, really."

” _That_ is a good point,” Tony conceded. “Alright, Captain, we’ll do it your way.”

"Thank you," Steve said, just the slightest hint of irritation coming through in his tone. After a long, awkward silence, he sighed. "Look, Tony, I know how you feel. I’m angry too. We just can’t afford to let it cloud our judgement."

"I’ll do my best," Tony replied, though Steve still wasn’t entirely reassured.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Avengers’ quinjet, in flight over North Dakota**

"Alright boys, no signs of anti-air defenses…" Natasha observed as they made their final approach to the base. It wasn’t much to look at, from the air, anyway: a handful of cinderblock buildings, a warehouse, a motor pool, and a helipad, all surrounded by a razor wire fence and then acres of empty fields. The real facility was underground. "Should I take us in?"

"Yeah, fly us over the drop zone and then find a place to park," Steve confirmed, double checking the straps that secured his shield to his back before hitting the button to lower the jet’s ramp. Once the rear of the jet was open to the elements, he pointed out one of the buildings. "That’s our target: it should house the access point down to the main facility."

"After you," Tony said, making a sweeping gesture with one armored arm.

Steve waited for just the right point over the building to jump, then lept from the back of the jet. After a few seconds of free fall, he landed with an impressive thump just outside the main doors of the target building, leaving a spiderweb of cracks in the pavement. As he dusted himself off, Sam and Tony each set down more gracefully beside him.

Their arrival had, predictably, not gone unnoticed, as it took less than a minute for a pair of well-armed men to emerge from the building, rifles at the ready. "This is a secu—"

Tony cut off the soldier’s warning with a repulsor beam square to the chest, sending him flying into a nearby wall. A second blast sent his buddy hurdling after him a moment later.

" _Stark!_ " Steve shouted. "I told you not to—"

"Cool your jets, Cap, I dialed down the power. They’re just winded." He threw open the doors of the building. "You coming?"

Steve still wasn’t happy, but he followed Tony inside nonetheless. "Next time, do you think you could let me try talking to them, first?"

"Hey, you said ‘minimal casualties,’ not ‘talk first,’" Tony pointed out.

Before Steve could respond to that, a faint tremor shook the building. All three of them paused, exchanging uneasy glances.

"Any chance that was just an earthquake?" Sam intoned hopefully.

"Jarvis says no," Tony replied.

"‘Course not," Steve said, picking up the pace. "Well, that explains why we’re not seeing heavier resistance."

The trio did encounter a few more soldiers as they made their way through the building; Steve was able to convince many that letting them through to deal with the Hulk was in everyone’s best interests, and the rest Tony disabled almost single-handedly with ease. Natasha caught up with them shortly before they located the elevator down to the main facility.

The ride down was long—over a hundred feet, if their intel was accurate. The scene they found when they arrived at the bottom was a far cry from the all-but-abandoned complex above. A cluster of over a dozen men was stationed here, with four fifty-cal machine guns pointed down the hallway opposite the elevator.

"Gentlemen," Natasha said demurely as she and the others stepped out of the elevator, "We understand you have a Hulk problem."

All of the soldiers spun around to aim their weapons at the intruders. It was abundantly clear to Steve that whatever had happened down here, these men were not prepared for it (in more ways than one).

"What in the hell are you people doing here?" Someone—a quick comparison of uniforms revealed him to be the ranking officer of the group—demanded.

"We’re here to clean up your mess," Tony said, tone openly hostile.

"You have two options here, boys," Steve announced. "You can fight us, but even if you win, you still have to deal with what’s down here. Or you can let us through so that we can deal with it for you."

"You actually _want_ to go up against that thing?" The officer asked in complete disbelief.

"Something like that," Sam confirmed.

The officer bit his lip and eyed the hallway ahead of them as he thought. "Fine, if you wanna go in there, it’s your funeral."

"Thank you," Natasha said politely as she led the way past the makeshift blockade.

They made their way through the facility, navigating by the sounds of the Hulk’s rampage. Blast doors periodically blocked their way, but Tony’s lasers cut through them quickly enough.

"So what exactly _is_ our plan?" Sam asked as they climbed through one such newly-cut hole.

"Try not to die?" Natasha suggested.

"We’ll have to adapt based on what state he’s in, but basically? Try to get him to calm down, and barring that, do our best to knock him unconscious so he changes back," Steve explained.

Sam gave him a concerned look. "You really think we can KO that guy?"

Steve considered it. Without Thor, he honestly wasn’t sure. "Hopefully talking to him works. We are here to rescue him, after all."

They walked in silence awhile longer until they finally located their target. He was in some sort of surgical room, one wall of which had been completely ripped out. The Hulk seemed agitated in a way Steve had never seen before, not even in SHIELD’s all-but-comprehensive library of security footage from Hulk incidents. He was roaring wordlessly, almost methodically crushing every bit of equipment in the room into dust.

"Uh, guys? I don’t think talking to him is going to work," Natasha said, visibly unsettled.

Tony, on the other hand, continued to watch him silently, clearly seeing something that Steve did not.

"Stark?"

"They _vivisected_ him," Tony said in a near-whisper of shocked disbelief. "Look at his chest."

When Steve looked again, he saw what Tony meant: four perfectly straight incisions on the Hulk’s chest, weeping thin trails of dark green blood. There was also something wrong with the skin on his left forearm and right calf, but between the distance and the Hulk’s unusual skin tone, Steve couldn’t tell exactly what it was.

"So how the hell are we gonna do this?" Sam asked.

"I’ll talk to him," Tony volunteered quietly, uncharacteristically sober.

"Are you sure?" Steve asked. "I doubt he’s in a listening mood."

"He’s scared. You can see it in his eyes," Tony replied.

"That doesn’t make it better," Sam warned.

Tony was quiet for just a moment. "I have to try. I owe it to him."

Steve nodded, reminded of the fact that for all his petulance and bravado, Tony Stark was still, at his core, a remarkably good man. "Good luck."

Slowly, cautiously, Tony approached the Hulk. "Bruce… Hulk?"

The Hulk seemed to ignore him until Tony was about fifteen feet away. At that point, the creature did a double-take at the presence of another moving entity and took a threatening step towards Tony, roaring in his face.

Natasha and Sam both raised their weapons as Tony took his own hasty step back, but he also called over to them, "It’s okay! We’re good, this is fine…" Then, to Steve’s utter disbelief, Tony flipped up his faceplate. "It’s me," He said in a level voice as he ever-so-slowly inched forward again. "You know me. You don’t have to be afraid of me."

The Hulk stared at Tony uncertainly for a long moment before rumbling out one word: " _Huuurts_ …" In that moment, the looming green behemoth looked less like a monster and more like a frightened child.

Tony’s voice actually cracked a little when he replied, "I know, buddy. Let us take care of you."

The Hulk nodded, and then he sank to his knees. His skin began to regain a pinkish hue as his massive form collapsed back into Bruce’s small one. Bruce slumped forward, and Tony had to catch him before his whole torso could collapse to the ground. In this form, Bruce’s injuries looked even more miserable; blood slowly oozed from the incisions in his chest, crimson mixing with the residual green, and the burns on his arm and leg were angry, blistering reds and yellows.

Steve knew that he couldn’t let himself think about that in anything more than superficial terms. Later he would let himself feel it, and he would break things or cry or maybe even both, but right now they were in the middle of a mission. He was a professional, and he was damn well not about to lose his head when the job was only halfway done.

" _Bozhe moy_ ," Natasha breathed as she approached. "This is…"

"Unforgivable?" Tony suggested, a harshness entering his tone.

A small whimper alerted them to the fact that Bruce was not entirely unconscious. It took him a moment to process his surroundings, to recognize the armored hands on his shoulders. When he finally did, he made a sound that was somewhere in between a groan of relief and a sob. He mumbled something indistinct, but Steve shushed him.

"It’s okay, doc, we’re getting you out of here." The Captain slung his shield over his back and then carefully lifted Bruce into his arms, wincing in sympathy when Bruce let out a moan of pain. To Tony, Steve silently mouthed, _"Keep it together."_ Tony nodded stiffly in reply, and Steve could only hope that he understood the importance of maintaining his composure when the doctor was in such a fragile state.

They had only gone a few feet back in the direction of the exit when Bruce murmured, "Wait… the data." He cleared his throat, clearly struggling to maintain his focus, before elaborating, "Make a copy, then erase it. They can’t—We can’t let them keep it."

"I’ll take care of it," Natasha said. "You should get him to the jet and stop that bleeding."

Steve nodded. "Just don’t take too long. We’ll need you to fly us out of here."

Natasha headed for the nearby observation room in search of a networked computer while the rest of them made their way back to the elevator. The soldiers there raised their weapons, but Sam pointed out that shooting at them would inevitably turn Banner back into the Hulk. The possibility was more than enough to convince them to let the team through.

The situation they found on the surface level was considerably more complicated; another group of men was waiting for them when the elevator doors opened, and these ones were led by General Ross himself.

"I can’t let you take that man, Captain Rogers," Ross said quietly.

"You think you can stop us?" Tony growled, stepping forward threateningly.

Steve’s own initial concern was less with the general himself and more with how Banner might react. Fortunately, the man in Steve’s arms seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness, and there was no sign of that green hue returning to his complexion. With that fear eased, Steve could turn his focus back to Ross. "Sorry, general, but the doctor’s one of ours. We don’t leave our people behind."

"Damn it, Rogers, this is bigger than just one man!" Ross argued. "The success or failure of this program will have global consequences. You of all people should understand that."

Steve shook his head, almost disappointed by the general’s shortsightedness. "Just one more reason for us to take him. Now I suggest you tell your men to stand down," He said as he pushed past Ross. "I don’t want to have to hurt them."

"More importantly, I really, _really_ do," Tony added.

" _Captain!"_ Ross shouted after them. "You will not take that man out of my custody!"

"My commission was up seventy years ago, general," Steve said, not even bothering to look back. "I don’t answer to you."

It took several seconds, but eventually he heard Ross begrudgingly order his men not to pursue them. Tony scoffed. "So he does have a brain, after all."

* * *

The walk back to the jet was short but tense—no one was in the mood for smalltalk.

"I’ll keep an eye out while we wait for Natasha," Tony offered once they arrived. "You two look after Bruce."

Steve nodded. "Sam, how’s your field medicine?" He asked as he set Bruce down in the back of the jet.

Sam, who was already retrieving the first aid kit, responded by raising his eyebrows incredulously. " _Pararescue_ , remember?"

"Who’s the new guy?" Bruce asked weakly.

"Doctor, you’re awake," Steve remarked, genuinely surprised.

"Unfortunately," Bruce replied, wincing as Sam wiped the blood away from one of his wounds.

Sam flashed Bruce a reassuring smile before turning back to his work. "Sam Wilson, I’m a friend of Steve’s."

"He saved my ass when Hydra came out of hiding," Steve explained, mostly to keep Bruce’s mind occupied.

"More than once," Sam added.

"Finally, what took you?" Tony called out from behind them. Steve turned to see Natasha jogging up.

"Bite me, Stark," She said casually as she walked up the ramp. To Steve and Sam, she asked, "How is he?"

"Stable," Sam replied, not looking up, "But we need to get him to a hospital."

"The nearest one with a helipad is a little under 200 miles north of here," Tony informed them, hitting the switch to raise the ramp behind him.

"I’ll get us in the air," Natasha said, heading for the pilot’s seat.


	7. Chapter 7

**Location unknown**

When Bruce awoke, his mind was hazy and unfocused. One of the first things he recognized was the smell of antiseptic, then the feeling of an IV needle in his arm when he moved. He reached to pull it out, but gentle hands over his own stopped him. Hands… that wasn’t right. They never had another person in the room with him when he was conscious. Any why wasn’t he restrained?

"You might want to leave that in, doc, it’s how they’ve been giving you your pain meds." That was Natasha’s voice. He forced his eyes to focus against the florescent lights above him, and there she was, smiling kindly down at him.

He remembered… letting his weight fall against the noose, then vague flashes of the Other Guy’s rampage through the facility. After that, he remembered waking up to Tony’s hands on his shoulders, and Steve carrying him out of that place, and the other guy—Sam—treating his wounds.

"Pain meds, right… That’d explain why my brain feels like mush," he mumbled.

He hadn’t even realized he was crying until Natasha reached up and wiped the tears from his temples. “You’re gonna be okay, Bruce. We’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

He smiled, and it was absolutely genuine. “I know you will.”

* * *

**Minot, North Dakota**

Something about Bruce’s absolute faith in her filled Natasha with a million different emotions at once, most of which she couldn’t even begin to describe. “Go back to sleep,” she told him, squeezing his hand and planting a light kiss on his forehead before standing to leave.

Steve had fallen asleep on a banquette under the window, still wearing his bloodstained uniform—he hadn’t had the foresight to bring a change of clothes. Sam had offered to go buy him some sweats or something and still hadn’t returned. The last she saw of Tony, he was outside making a series of agitated phone calls to various important people. She decided that she might as well go check in on him, since she needed something to do with herself.

Ultimately, she found Tony in a nearby waiting lounge, slumped in an armchair with a tablet in his hands. He looked exhausted and ashen faced and about ten years older than he actually was.

"I think the last time I saw you looking this bad was when you were dying," she remarked, taking a seat in the chair next to his.

"I don’t think I’ve felt this shitty since then, either," he replied, and his voice sounded about as bad as he looked, husky and thin. "I’ve been going over the data you pulled, trying to find the relevant bits to pass on to the doctors, but it’s…"

"Not exactly light reading?" Natasha suggested.

"I was thinking ‘horrible,’ but that works, too. You know that lab we found him in?"

"Yeah?"

"There’s video footage of everything they did to him in there. Those burns he has? That’s how they forced him to transform when they wanted to experiment on the Other Guy. It’s…" He tossed the tablet aside, then scrubbed a hand over his face. "I feel like I’m gonna puke."

Natasha could only wish that what they’d discovered in that base was the worst atrocity she’d ever seen, but her world had always been a much uglier place than a man like Tony (even a man like Tony—she knew he was by no means sheltered) could ever truly comprehend. Still, this was high on her list, and that was impressive in and of itself.

She could tell that Tony had no idea how to handle this. She also knew that she might be the least qualified person in the world to talk him through it, given that—in certain respects, anyway—she was incapable of feeling it the way he did. She shared his grief and a degree of his anger, but he was also feeling shock and revulsion and confusion as to how anyone could do such horrible things, and she wasn’t—she couldn’t. She was far too well acquainted with humanity’s capacity for evil to be anything other than saddened by it.

She could, at least, shift his focus elsewhere for the time being, to problems they might actually be able to solve. “Any news on the fallout?”

"Let’s see… The Senate Armed Services Committee wants to talk to us, which is fine with me because I’d like to have a chat with them, too… I discovered that if you want the White House to return your calls, all you have to do is break into a top secret military base, so that’s good to know… Oh, I’ve also made arrangements for Bruce at a private hospital in Malta. We can transfer him as soon as the doctors say it’s safe."

"That’s smart, sending him somewhere the US government can’t go."

"Yeah, I thought so," Tony agreed. "On that note, I don’t know what you’ve been up to lately, but would you have any interest in spending a few weeks in a beautiful, fiercely independent Mediterranean nation?"

"You want me to keep an eye on him?"

"I think one of us should stay nearby after everything that just happened, and it looks like Cap and I are gonna need to be here putting out fires."

"Yeah, I can go," Natasha said. "You should think about asking Sam, too. He’s actually a PTSD counselor."

"Really? I would not have called that. Handy, given… you know, us."

Natasha laughed aloud at that. “We really could use a resident shrink, couldn’t we?”

"He wouldn’t get bored," Tony agreed.

* * *

**Sliema, Malta, two days later**

Bruce awoke from his latest nightmare in a cold sweat, heart pounding, gasping for air that never seemed to actually fill his lungs.

Sam was already there at his bedside, taking one of Bruce’s hands. “Breathe, doctor. Just breathe,” he coached, voice calm and steady.

Bruce did, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths and willing his pulse to steady itself. He reminded himself where he was—a hospital room in Malta, an ocean away from the setting of his nightmares. There was warm light streaming through the room’s large windows and James Taylor crooning through a set of speakers Sam had set up not long after they’d arrived. He was safe.

"You back with me?" Sam asked.

Bruce nodded, though his voice still shook when he replied, “Yeah, I’m with you.” He once again thanked any God that might be listening for the small mercy that nightmares alone didn’t seem to trigger his Condition. Part of him wondered idly if it might have something to do with the neurochemistry of sleep, and he made a detached note to investigate later.

"You wanna talk about it?" Sam offered nonjudgmentally as he settled himself back into his seat.

Bruce laughed cynically. “Those are dangerous waters.” Instead, he found himself studying Sam, struck once again by the fact that this man who had only just met Bruce had followed him to another continent to faithfully sit at his side and guide him back to himself whenever he strayed too close to the darkness. “You don’t have to be here, you know.”

"It’s no problem," Sam insisted. "Besides, I’m getting a pretty nice vacation out of the deal. Wait until you see Stark’s villa, it’s _insane_.”

Bruce smiled, because he could imagine. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Still… you don’t even know me.”

"Not yet," Sam corrected, flashing an easy smile. Bruce couldn’t help but smile back.

* * *

**Washington D.C., one week later**

The atmosphere in the Senate Armed Services Committee chamber was nothing like it had been the last time Tony was there, more than three years before. This was, predictably, a closed session, and as such the gallery was almost deserted. The handful of people who were in attendance included Maria Hill, Rhodey, the Secretary of Defense himself, and a number of Army and Air Force big shots.

A few seats down from Tony sat Steve, wearing a dove grey double-breasted suit that jingled with the Captain’s numerous medals. He was currently reading the last paragraph of his prepared statement. “Given General Ross’ willful endangerment of the public safety and his egregious violation of Dr. Banner’s personal rights, it is my opinion that the General should be subject to immediate court martial. Furthermore, legislative measures must be taken regarding the legal status of individuals with superhuman traits in order to ensure that similar abuses of power do not occur in the future. Thank you.”

"Thank you for your testimony, Captain," said Chairwoman Keller. "We will now turn to questions, beginning with Mr. Larson."

"Thank you, Madam Chairwoman," Senator Larson replied. "Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark, I would first like to recognize the numerous contributions you have each made to our great nation." Tony would be damned if that didn’t sound like the least sincere compliment he’d ever heard. He did not like where this was going. "That said, I have found myself growing increasingly concerned by your apparent disregard for the rule of law. How do you justify, in this latest case, illegally entering a secure area and interfering with a classified operation?"

Tony and Steve exchanged glances, silently negotiating who should respond, ultimately settling on the latter. “Well, sir,” Steve began, “My approach has always been to do what I think is right and then accept the consequences afterwards. I went into that facility because I believed—and still do believe—that it was the right thing to do, and now I’m here answering for it.”

"Your talk of answering for your actions rings a little hollow to me, Captain. If you were really willing to accept consequences, then why are we doing all of this on your terms? And why isn’t Dr. Banner here, answering for _his_ part in all of this, rather than hiding beyond the reach of his own government?”

" _Excuse me?_ " Tony cut in, because _fuck_ that. “Two things. First, just for the record, getting him out of the country was _my_ idea—you’ll have to excuse me if I’m not really feeling an overabundance of trust in ‘our government’ right now. Second, can we please not forget that _Dr. Banner is the victim here?_ ”

"Your so called ‘victim’ beat two soldiers to death and put another five in the ICU," Larson replied dryly.

"After they _vivisected_ him! Have you ever had unanesthetized surgery, senator? It’s not really the sort of experience you find yourself eager to repeat. As a matter of fact, it’s exactly the sort of thing to make you desperate enough to be willing to _kill people_.” Tony was basically shouting by that point, but he really didn’t care. _Fuck_ that, and fuck this idiot, too.

"That’s beside the point—"

"I think it’s exactly the point, Mr. Senator," Steve interrupted, a little of his own well-disguised anger showing through. "The doctor never would have risked unleashing the Hulk if he hadn’t been driven to it, and you can’t have seen those videos of what they did to him and still think he wasn’t driven to it. If you want someone to blame, Ross is the one who left him with no alternative. As far as I’m concerned, he’s responsible for those soldiers’ deaths, not Dr. Banner."

" _My point_ is not just about this one incident, it’s about the bigger picture. You two and your ‘Avengers’ take actions that have major implications as to the security of this country, yet you aren’t actually accountable to anyone. Frankly, I think that’s outrageous.”

"Hey, you wanna arrest us for breaking into a classified facility, go right ahead," Tony said. "But if you do, the public will want to know why, and that means letting them in on how the government performed Mengele-style experiments on a US citizen. You tell me, are you really prepared to do that?" When Larson had no response, Tony chuckled mirthlessly. "I thought so. _That’s_ our accountability, by the way. We all know that the minute we start doing things the general public wouldn’t support, we’re pretty much completely screwed. Now, does anyone have any less asinine questions?”

There were several more times during the hearing when Tony had to fight the impulse to just flip them all off and walk out, but he restrained himself. This time around, it wasn’t about him. Last time, the consequences of the Committee’s decision would have been mostly restricted to his own (imminently ending, as he had thought at the time) life, but this time was different. This was about his friends, and they were worth putting up with all the bureaucratic bullshit in the world if it could keep them safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to point out a few random things. First, real life Malta is part of the EU, but apparently MCU Malta is fiercely independent and hates political interference from other nations (see Agents of SHIELD episode 1.03), so I just rolled with it. Tony had a villa there because what self-respecting billionaire *wouldn’t*?
> 
> Second, I discovered when doing my research for this chapter that real life congressional Q&A sessions involve a lot more monologing. A lot. It’s like… 3 parts monolog to every 1 part actual question, it’s pretty absurd. Anyway, I downplayed that because concision is supposed to be the game here, and who wants to listen to a fictional politician ramble on about himself, anyway? (For serious, though, guys, real life congressional committee meetings are ridiculous.)


	8. Epilogue

**Tony Stark’s Maltese villa, two weeks after the Project Lyssa assault on Stark Tower**

Bruce was settled on one of the couches in a second story lounge overlooking the sea. It had become his preferred workspace, since he was still a little sore and hadn’t been sleeping well (who knew when that would start getting better), and a couch was just a lot more inviting than a desk right now. He had two extra monitors set up on the coffee table and hooked into his laptop, so it was actually a surprisingly efficient place to get things done.

He’d spent most of the last few days going through the data from Lyssa. Sam seemed concerned by it, and Bruce suspected that it was making Natasha outright nervous (though it was always hard to tell with her), but he was stubbornly confident that he could handle it. Not the videos, obviously—he didn’t think he’d ever be able to watch those—but the rest of it… he had reminders of what had happened burned into his own skin, for Christ’s sake. If that hadn’t set him off yet, looking at his own MRIs wasn’t about to.

The funny thing was, it was actually remarkably good, useful data. Maybe not enough to cure himself with (secretly, Bruce was aware that a cure might simply not be possible), but he could do so much with it, for himself and for others. Bruce wouldn’t call it a silver lining, per se—he felt like that would trivialize everything he’d been through—but it was… an opportunity, perhaps. A chance to make something good come from all of that pain.

"Honey, I’m home." The sound made Bruce jump before his mind had time to recognize Tony’s voice. There the man was, leaning against the doorframe with that trademark cocky grin of his. Someone who didn’t know him well might have missed how the little wrinkles around his eyes didn’t quite match the smile.

"Hey. I didn’t think you were getting in until—" Bruce glanced at the clock on his computer. "Oh."

Tony laughed. “I’d give you shit for that, but we both know I’d probably forget to eat without Jarvis. Whatcha working on?” He made his way over to Bruce’s side of the coffee table and glanced at the monitors. “Ah.” Mercifully, he didn’t push the subject. Then again, Bruce imagined that Tony was the most likely of all of them to get it.

"So, you have news for me?" Bruce asked. The whole reason Tony had flown out was that the Senate had reached some kind of a decision and he wanted to strategize. Given that he’d felt the need to come do it in person, Bruce had a suspicion that the news wasn’t great.

Tony sighed and took a seat in an armchair adjacent to Bruce’s couch. “Both kinds. Let’s start with the bad part: Ross isn’t going to jail. The son of a bitch probably won’t even get kicked out of the Army.”

Bruce nodded silently. He could tell that Tony was seething with barely-contained rage, but Bruce was just too worn down to get angry about it (any angrier than usual, anyway; this was just another drop in the roiling ocean of fury that he always carried, pushed down below the surface of his rational conscious mind). Besides, he had never really expected the General to get more than a slap on the wrist. The man had gotten away with far too much already for Bruce to expect any different. “It sounded like there was an upside?”

"More or less. We got some of the safeguards we were lobbying for. Habeas corpus now officially applies to people with superpowers—they also explicitly included aliens, which was a nice surprise coming from those assholes. There are a couple of caveats about exigent circumstances and that kind of crap, but for the most part the military doesn’t have any more power to detain supers than they do anyone else. It isn’t perfect and I’m _sure_ there are loopholes, but at least it’s something.”

"It’s a pretty big step up from having no legal rights whatsoever," Bruce agreed sincerely.

Tony made a face. “Just because the law didn’t address supers specifically doesn’t mean you didn’t have the same rights as everyone else. Those idiots should have acknowledged as much. And locked Ross’ sorry ass up for the rest of his life, while they were at it.”

Bruce smiled sadly. “That’s a nice sentiment, but we both know the world’s never worked that way.”

"Yeah, well, fuck the world." Tony slumped back in the chair, exhausted by his own anger. "So, we should probably talk about what you’re gonna do next."

"Yeah, probably."

"Well look, you know you’re welcome to stay here indefinitely. Hell, I’ll even build you a lab if you want. But you should at least think about coming home."

Bruce had already been thinking about it, almost since he had first arrived on the island. There were so many variables to consider, so many advantages and disadvantages, so many possible scenarios and contingencies. Ultimately, the one factor that kept pushing itself to the forefront of his mind was one that, objectively, shouldn’t even matter. It was that simple concept of “home.” New York was home. It was a stupid, emotional attachment that Bruce knew shouldn’t even affect his decision, much less dictate it, and yet…

"I think I want to. Come home, that is."

Some attachments superseded logic. Some things were worth the risk.


End file.
